Tea and Comfort
by BlueSuedeShoes
Summary: Emma and Jefferson form a bond over a cuppa. Rating subject to change.


"Jefferson! I know you're in there! So you can either open this door, or—"

"Or?" Jefferson said, swinging the door open and facing off with a clearly irate Emma Swan. He leaned casually in the doorway of his home, folding his arms and raising his eyebrows. "Sheriff Swan," he said by way of greeting. "I was wondering how much longer you were going to ignore my return."

Emma gave him a sour look. "Just be glad I decided that pressing charges would only cause more trouble. And now it's not worth my time," she added.

Jefferson smirked. "Really. Do tell," he moved out of the doorway and gestured her into his home.

She should have hesitated, should have felt some qualm about re-entering the home of this man, this lunatic. But she didn't. With reckless abandon, she crossed the threshold, and rounded on him as he was closing the door behind her. "Why were you able to lie to me?" she asked.

"I'm sorry?" he looked at her, honestly confused.

Emma stepped closer threateningly. "When I nearly hit you on the road," she reminded him. "Why couldn't I tell you were lying?'

"Ah," he said. "That." He moved past her and headed into the kitchen. "Something upsetting you, Emma?" he asked.

She stared after him in disbelief before shaking herself and following after him.

He was pouring water into a kettle. "What are you doing?" she demanded.

"Fixing tea," he answered.

She rolled her eyes, exasperated and frustrated that he wasn't allowing her the satisfaction of taking out her anger on him. "As if I'm going to drink it," she spat.

He chuckled lightly. "Well, I'm fixing it in front of you this time if that helps, but you should just know that tea usually helps with this sort of thing."

"This sort of thing?" she echoed back irritably.

He looked up at her, meeting her eyes. "Parenting angst."

She looked at him, then tore her eyes away and looked at the wall, crossing her arms protectively. Then she looked back. "You still didn't answer my question. Why couldn't I tell you were lying?"

Jefferson set the kettle on his stove and turned on the flame, debating his answer with a lilt of his head. "Because I was careful," he said.

"What?"

"Mostly, I didn't actually lie to you. I just let you make assumptions."

She frowned.

"I never said you hit me with your car, you did. And I only faked a little limp. You were the one who said I got hurt." He tilted his head to the side, "Why the sudden interest?"

"Because I'm supposed to have these brilliant instincts, but…" she paused for a moment, trying to find words for the problem, "But I'm not sure anymore. I mean, I _know_ Regina's screwed up and lying to me. And I knew immediately that Sidney was lying with his stupid confession—"

"Confession?" Jefferson interrupted.

"Regina persuaded Sidney to confess to framing Mary Margaret."

This news seemed to mean something to Jefferson, but he let Emma continue.

"And I knew he was lying, but I didn't see it coming when he was spying on me for Regina and leading me on about helping me. And I trust August but I also know he's got something to hide—" there were tears of frustration forming in her eyes "—and I don't know what's what anymore!" she threw her hands up in frustration and exhaustion.

"So you came to see me?" he asked, a knowing flash of humor in his eyes.

She shook her head and pinched her nose. "Good point. I'm leaving," she said, turning for the door. Jefferson had hold of her arm in an instant.

"Wait."

She glared at him. "What for?"

"Just…you need to calm down before you head home. You're too angry to be going home by yourself. Believe me, I've been there." He released her arm and returned to the kettle, which had begun to whistle quietly.

Emma sighed, watching him.

"So are you going to ask me?" he said, back to her as he turned off the stove and opened his cupboard to pull down cups and saucers and a teapot.

"Ask you?"

"You know."

"Fine," she said, knowing exactly what he meant. "Where have you been?'

"In the hat."

Emma scoffed, rolling her eyes.

Jefferson turned to her and smiled. "See? That's why you like me. Because even if I'm completely insane, at least you know I'm honest about it." His smirk was so pronounced that Emma had to laugh, just a little.

"You are insane," she conceded. "And what did you do in the hat?" she asked, her voice indicating just how much credit she gave his answer.

"I found the door to my realm. It was locked," he added the second sentence after a brief pause, his voice harder. "There really is no way home for us until the curse is broken."

She sighed. "Jefferson…"

"Don't," he said, hearing the pity in her voice. "You have two choices. You can listen to me tell you the truth, or I can make up lies that you find easier to believe. Which do you really prefer?" he looked her square in the eyes.

Emma returned the stare before slumping her shoulders slightly in concession. Rather than commenting, she walked over and took the tea bags out of his hands and gently nudged him aside. "I'll make the tea this time," she said simply.

Jefferson didn't answer, but smiled a little at her as she made herself busy pouring the hot water into the teapot and dropping in the tea bags, watching the curls of brown tea swirl and slowly spread through the water.

"So do you want to talk about what's really upsetting you?"

Emma didn't look at him, just tapped her finger lightly while waiting for the tea to finish steeping.

"It has something to do with your son," Jefferson prompted.

"Yeah, see, how do you know that?" Emma asked accusingly, turning to look at him through narrowed eyes, her assumption clear.

He didn't flinch, though. "Emma, I don't need a telescope to know a concerned parent when I see one."

The look of pity flashed across her face again, but she didn't say anything this time, just turned to pour the tea.

"I'm just…I hate myself a little bit," she said finally.

"Ah." It was a syllable, not even a full word, but it contained all the sympathy and understanding in the world. It said that he knew exactly how she felt. He let her finish fixing the tea, knowing she wouldn't drink it otherwise, before taking the cups and leading her to the living room and guiding her to the couch. Only when she sat did he give her the tea, which she sipped gratefully for a moment, the drink scalding her tongue at first a strange comfort. "So," he said, sitting down. "Tell me."

It was the cue she'd needed. She began slowly at first, talking about how difficult it had been to give Henry up when she was younger, what it was like making the decision, how convinced she had been that she was doing the right thing for him. Then things got deeper: what it had been like giving birth in prison. How it felt when Henry turned up on her doorstep, the panic, the concern, the anger she felt that he didn't have the perfect life she'd preferred to imagine for him when she allowed herself to think about it. She told Jefferson things she hadn't been able to tell Mary Margaret, too ashamed or too afraid for unnamable reasons. What it was like when she found out she was pregnant. How infuriating it was to realize what Regina was truly like…the woman she had handed her son over to. She was supposed to be Henry's chance, his better life, his happy ending

She let Jefferson talk. He told her about Grace, what she was like, the sacrifices he had made as her father, how he had only agreed to help Regina because he wanted to secure a good future for his daughter. He told Emma what it felt like to be eaten alive by the guilt of a broken promise every day, how it had felt when he was trapped in Wonderland. What it was like to watch his daughter be raised by strangers, his uncomfortable relief that they were good to her, how sometimes he almost felt guilty for wanting to take her away from this world, that he questioned whether she were really better off with him or not.

Emma listened, not questioning his story, not pointing out how impossible it was. Because a silent understanding had been forged. Whether Jefferson's story was true or not, he believed it. It was his reality. And the world she believed he had created in his mind was so tragic, so full of constant pain, that her heart broke for him.

Jefferson's end of their unspoken agreement was not to ask her to believe him. He didn't tell her that his short trip into the hat meant something very important: that for one brief moment, she had believed. He didn't ask what had sparked that moment. He didn't tell her she had to believe his story. It was enough that she listened, that she understood.

"He's going to be okay, you know. Henry."

She looked at him with weary eyes. "Yeah? How do you know?"

"I've seen that little kid, the way he looks at you. He loves you."

Emma felt a slight pang in her chest, not saying how much she wanted to believe that. "Yeah?" she said, laughing him off casually.

"Yeah. And that's all you can ask as a parent. That your child will be able to love people, deserving and undeserving. And just like some children turn into bad people in spite of good parents, some children turn into good people in spite of bad ones. All we can ever hope for is that no matter who their parents are, they will know how to love."

Emma let out a tiny little sob, thinking of Henry's trusting face. He was the most ready-to-love child she had ever known, so different from her at that age. Whatever kind of mother Regina had been, good or bad, at least that much was true.

Jefferson reached over and took her long empty tea cup from her hands, setting it on the table beside his. Slowly, gently, he tugged Emma into his arms and held her tightly.

Emma marveled for one brief moment at allowing this man to hold her so intimately. The mad man. But somehow, this night had erased everything else. Gone were the lunatic and the sheriff, and they had been replaced by two broken people, united by one common understanding: that nothing is more important than your child. So she melted into his embrace and allowed him to comfort her, not realizing that he was being comforted in return. Holding her was…soothing; it eased the pain. Almost like magic. He pressed his face into her hair and inhaled. Emma buried her face in the crook of his neck and choked out a quiet sob of relief.

This was good. This kind of trust. It was a step in the right direction. For both of them


End file.
